


The Dubious Magic of the Season

by ainm



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, Holiday, Humor, M/M, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainm/pseuds/ainm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If one more Jim-fan interrupts Poker Night, Blair just might shoot them, holiday season or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dubious Magic of the Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sunglow66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunglow66/gifts).



## The Dubious Magic of the Season

#### by ainm

Author's website: <http://www.geocities.com/ainm66/TS>  
Not mine, making no money, intending no copyright infringement. Blah blah blah.  
Written for sunglow66 as part of the ts_secretsanta challenge on LiveJournal, prompt J/B slash with humor. Thanks to rhianne for organizing the whole thing, to sunglow66 for the prompt, and to everyone who participated and made it such a great experience!  
A wee bit o' sap here & there, nothing too overwhelming, with some angsty Blair introspection thrown in amongst the humor. Hopefully the end result is fun, though. :-)  


* * *

"I could sleep for a week!" Blair groaned as he flopped onto the sofa. He kicked off his shoes with blatant disregard for the house rules, stretched luxuriantly, and let out an enormous sigh. 

"It's finally over -- no more exams, no more papers, no more disinterested students with uninteresting excuses for why they couldn't handle the work, no more snide remarks about my hours... none of it until January!" He closed his eyes. 

"It's fascinating how you can sound so lively yet look comatose," Jim commented from the kitchen. 

"It's a skill. I swear, man, I don't want to see a soul for at least 48 hours -- it's a hermit's life for me. Stupid people..." 

"You're an anthropologist, Chief -- you're supposed to find people interesting." 

"Not at the end of the semester -- you get special dispensation." Blair didn't open his eyes. 

"Um, Chief? Are you forgetting something?" 

"No. And I don't care anyway." 

"Poker night, here, one hour." 

"Oh _crap_!" He finally opened his eyes. 

"You don't have to join in, you know. You could go play hermit in your room, everyone would understand." 

Blair smiled for the first time since he'd dragged himself in the door. "Thanks, Jim, I appreciate that. But it's OK, I want to play. You guys aren't students, at least, and besides -- I intend to win big tonight, gotta finance my holiday shopping!" 

"That's what you think, pal!" 

Despite his earlier vow of reclusiveness, Blair was at the door welcoming their Major Crimes colleagues an hour later. It would have been nice if poker night had been a day later and he'd had some time to recuperate from the end-of-term chaos, but he never missed poker night if he could help it. 

He joked a lot about the money, but that wasn't why. Sure, when he did win, the money came in very handy, but it was the sense of belonging that his CPD friends gave him that brought him back again and again. 

Blair had many friendly acquaintances, but real friends were few. He'd always devoted most of his time to learning, and with a somewhat nomadic lifestyle, he just didn't have time to make good friends. And fitting in? Ha. It wasn't always major ostracism, but he'd never quite fit in anywhere -- something always set him apart. 

There were plenty of things that set him apart from the folks in Major Crimes, and everybody enjoyed pointing them out. What made it special was that even though they recognized his differences, they didn't care. The fact that he'd earned the trust and respect of the detectives was something Blair prized highly. 

They trickled in in ones and twos, some bearing six-packs of beer, some bringing bags of chips and pretzels to go with the various dips and nibbles that Jim had picked up on his way home. Megan brought a Santa-shaped platter of cookies that she'd tried to make from scratch -- they didn't look _too_ scary, everyone decided. 

Jim had the woodstove going and there were greens decorating the loft here and there -- nothing overwhelming to the senses or overtly religious -- and the aroma of apples and cinnamon and cloves mingled with the scent of the evergreen, thanks to the spiced cider that Jim had warming on the stove... the atmosphere was just right for a relaxed evening of fun with good friends. 

They'd played a couple of hands, with no major movement of chips but with a lot of laughter at H's always entertaining attempts to bluff. Blair thought that there really was no better way to head into winter break... and then there was a knock at the door. 

Blair had already folded on the current hand, so with a quick glance at Jim, he got up to get the door. 

"Nobody invited an extra, did they?" he asked the table as he looked out the peephole. 

The visitor was definitely not looking to join the game, Blair realized, and opened the door on Mrs. McGrath from the second floor. 

Mrs. McGrath looked no more than maybe 65, but she'd assured Jim and Blair that she was 78. They helped her out sometimes when she had something to do around the place that needed "a big, strong boy like yourself" -- Blair always laughed at the idea of anyone calling Jim a boy. 

"Oh, hello, Blair," she said brightly. She bore what appeared to be a cake of some sort, though it was a bit misshapen and Blair was hard-pressed to determine what _kind_ of cake it might actually be. 

"I made this for you boys, because you're always such a help to me, and not snippy like _her_ across the hall" -- Mrs. McGrath, though mild-mannered most of the time, had a running feud with a neighbor whose name she refused to speak -- "but I didn't have quite all the ingredients, so I took a few liberties with the recipe." They both looked somewhat dubiously at the cake. 

"I'm sure we'll love it -- thanks so much." Blair tried to sound pleased. 

He knew that with no family in the area and most of her friends either passed on or in assisted living facilities or nursing homes, his elderly neighbor didn't have many people to talk to... she could talk forever, he'd decided, just so long as someone stood still long enough for her to talk to. But this was poker night, and he was tired, and he just wanted to get rid of her, even though it made him feel like a cretin to think it. 

"Well, it's getting late, you'd best --" 

"Where is Jim, dear?" 

Blair moved out of the doorway so that Mrs. McGrath could see the table and the poker set-up. 

"Oh, hello boys!" She noticed Megan then, and gave her a strange look, but made no comment. 

She stepped into the room and Blair stifled a groan. 

"I just brought by a little Christmas goodie for you, Jim. How nice to see you have your friends over!" 

Blair grinned behind her back at how she seemed to reduce everyone to children with her words. At the same time, he worried that once she settled in, they'd never get her out. 

"Thank you, Mrs. McGrath, I'm sure we'll all enjoy it," Jim said, his eyes looking to Blair helplessly. Blair just shrugged and gave him an "I don't know either" sort of look. 

She looked closely at the players at the table. "So, are you all police officers too?" 

They all mumbled things like "yes, ma'am," and Jim was forced to make introductions. Mrs. McGrath was fascinated by Connor's accent, and apparently forgave her for the indiscretion of playing cards with a bunch of men. After a lengthy monologue on how she and her late husband had always wanted to see Australia, and koalas, and oh dear, they had an awful lot of sharks, didn't they, Jim finally managed to break in. 

"Well, it was lovely to see you, Mrs. McGrath. It's getting late, though -- you don't want to keep the Captain up past his bedtime, do you?" he asked with a grin as he took the old lady's elbow and began to propel her toward the exit. 

Even as she was walking out the door, Mrs. McGrath was still calling out comments about how she and her late husband used to play bridge, and maybe they should all get together and she'd teach them how to play. 

"Thanks for stopping by, and the cake -- Happy Holidays!" Jim said as he closed the door on her, locked it, and collapsed against it briefly. 

"I feel like an absolute slug," he said, sitting down and picking up his cards. 

"Good to know we can count on you to do the dirty jobs," Simon told him, to chuckles around the table. 

"OK, where were we?" Blair asked, and play resumed for a time, with plenty of accompanying munchies and wisecracks. 

Blair had just thought that it looked like it would turn out to be a calm evening after all when the sound of female voices came from the hall and another knock came at the door. 

"Are you going to answer the door, Jim?" Blair asked. 

"You're closer." 

"Oh, for crying out loud," Blair muttered, but he got up anyway. 

This time he didn't need the peephole -- he could recognize at least two of the voices, soft but very animated, on the other side of the door. He opened the door curiously. 

"Hi, Blair!" they squeaked like caricatures of high school cheerleaders from a cheesy teen movie. The sound set his teeth on edge. 

They weren't in high school, though they _were_ young; all four attractive young ladies were grad students that Blair knew casually from Rainier. He and Jim had run into them when they were grabbing a quick lunch at a caf near the U a few weeks ago. 

His greeting to them was several orders of magnitude less bouncy than theirs, but they seemed undeterred. 

"So, Blair, aren't you going to invite us in?" 

While his mind raced to think of a polite way to give them the brush off, Rafe decided to take matters into his own hands. 

"Who are your lovely friends, Sandburg?" he called from the table, and before Blair knew it, all four of the girls had slipped past him into the room as if they'd actually been asked in. 

It wasn't that there was anything _wrong_ with them, just like there wasn't anything wrong with Mrs. McGrath. But poker night... somehow that was sacrosanct, only for the initiated of the inner circle. 

In one way, though, Blair was glad that they'd taken the initiative to introduce themselves to Rafe and the rest of the crew -- he could never keep them straight. Which one was Caitlyn, the redhead or the blonde? Was Rebecca the one studying sociology or the one in marketing? 

Normally Blair was great with names, faces, the whole nine yards... But even though these girls didn't actually look alike (if you discounted the similar clothing), they still seemed interchangeable to him, like clones. 

He felt rather guilty over that thought, because he firmly believed that everyone deserved a fair chance to be recognized for themselves, as individuals rather than as labels or stereotypes. 

Probably he would find things to differentiate them if he spent time getting to know them... but unfortunately for his peace of mind, nothing he'd learned about them so far made him want to get to know them that well, gorgeous or not. 

Which begged the question: what were they doing here? Luckily, Blair found when he pulled himself from his woolgathering that H was asking them that very question. 

"Oh, we were headed out to Club Oasis and we thought we'd stop in and see if Jim would come with us," said the darker blonde -- Carla? -- and Rebecca or Lynda quickly added "And Blair! Jim and Blair, of course." 

Right -- Blair had seen the way they'd looked at his partner when they'd met that day at lunch. They'd stared at him as if _he_ were on the menu, like they would forgo their salads and their sparkling water if they could just get a taste of him. Not that he blamed them -- he spent a considerable amount of effort trying _not_ to look at Jim like that, and the man didn't make it easy, especially when he paraded around the loft sans shirt... 

Blair realized he'd been drifting again. Tuning into the conversation, he was relieved to hear Jim explaining about poker night, thanks for asking, etc. etc. And when they asked Jim about a rain check, he could have kissed Rafe for interrupting to volunteer for a rain check himself, saving Jim from answering -- and him from hearing the answer. 

This time it was Blair's turn to escort the uninvited guests rather firmly to the door, with best wishes for winter break and promises to see them on campus in January and so much chatter that they didn't really have a chance to get a word in. He breathed a big sigh of relief when he finally got the door closed behind them. 

"Nice friends, Blair." Rafe's inflection implied that he wasn't referring to their personalities. 

"They're not my friends," Blair muttered. "Alright, where did we leave off?" 

The group settled back down to business, with Simon pulling down a couple of good pots and Rafe and Blair already falling behind in the chip count. 

Blair was still a bit agitated about the girls coming to make a play for Jim, and that was just another thing to feel guilty about. If he truly loved him, wouldn't Blair want him to be happy? But those bits of fluff wouldn't make Jim happy, he knew... 

Annoyed with himself, Blair stuffed those thoughts down ruthlessly. He _was_ supposed to be having fun, after all. Maybe he really _was_ too tired to have come out this evening, maybe he should have just chatted with them all for a few minutes and then gone to bed and slept 'til the next afternoon. Fatigue was making him a little bit crazy. 

By the time the third knock came, Blair was fuming, Jim was raising his eyebrow, and most of the rest of the crew were snickering. 

"Forget it -- I'm not answering it," Blair proclaimed. 

"I'm not moving -- I don't trust you guys with my cards," Jim countered. 

The knock sounded again. 

"Alright then, _I'll_ get it," Connor grinned as she got up. 

"No! Fine, I'll get it." Who knew what kind of trouble Megan would get them into? 

Not even bothering with the peephole, Blair opened the door just enough to see was out there -- he didn't care at this point if he was being rude, whoever it was hadn't been invited and Blair was sick to death of impromptu guests. 

Standing outside the door, wearing a hopeful smile and an overcoat that cost more than Blair made in six months, was Paul Bradford. He was a lawyer who had witnessed a shooting in a posh office building downtown last week, the culmination of a hostage incident they'd been called in on; he and Jim had taken his statement. 

"Oh... Blain --" 

"-- Blair." 

"Right, sorry, Blair. I thought this was Jim's address?" 

Blair narrowed his eyes. Between the fancy clothes, the use of Jim's first name, and the gourmet gift basket with wine, fruit, cheeses, and who knew what all that the guy was holding, Blair was on instant alert. Besides -- the bozo had called him Blain. 

"Yes, this is _Detective Ellison's_ address." 

Raucous squawks of laughter and curses suddenly came from behind Blair, and the confused look on pretty-boy's face cleared up. 

"Christmas party?" Bradford asked with a smile that was _almost_ smug and that _almost_ had Blair wiping it off his face. 

"Poker night," he said coldly, and put his hand on the doorframe in a deliberately unsubtle effort to bar the other man from looking -- or pushing -- past him. 

"Ah. So that's why you're here?" 

The emphasis on "you're" was slight -- perhaps if Blair weren't edgy, exhausted, and paranoid, he would have given Bradford the benefit of the doubt and assumed he'd imagined it. 

But Blair was those things and more, and something in him snapped at the idea that somehow he didn't _deserve_ Jim, that some rich _lawyer_ , with his fancy clothes and his perfectly groomed blond hair and his fucking _fruit basket_ , could be better for Jim than he could. 

"I live here," he stated in a voice that was both calm and dripping with scorn. Just because he didn't take that approach with people very often, it didn't mean that he _couldn't_. 

Bradford's face betrayed a moment of surprise and hesitation, quickly masked. 

"Too poor to afford a place of your own?" The little laugh he gave had nothing to do with humor. 

"Oh, _that's_ not what keeps me here." Blair tried to make his voice as sensual and innuendo-laden as he could; the faint but perceptible flush on the lawyer's face told him he succeeded at least a bit. 

"Do you expect me to believe that Jim is involved that way with _you_?" This time the derision was clear. 

"And why is that so hard to believe?" Blair asked with a small toss of his hair. 

Unfortunately it didn't impress or intimidate Bradford -- he was a lawyer, after all. He looked Blair up and down insolently, and clearly found him lacking. 

Suddenly all the old feelings of gawkiness and ugly-duckling-hood flared up inside him, and Blair felt nauseated. What did he think he was _doing_? Mr. Fancypants here was right, after all -- Jim _didn't_ want him, and even if it was because Jim was straight, Blair was still alone. 

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear Jim approach until the door was pulled from his hand and thrown open. 

"Who do we have here?" he asked in what seemed to Blair to be a surprisingly cheerful tone. "Ah, Paul!" 

"Hello, Jim. I just wanted to stop by and say thank you for making such a horrible experience as painless as possible for me last week." Bradford beamed at Jim. 

The words themselves were harmless, but the way they were delivered was like a red flag to a bull for Blair. As Bradford tried to push past him, holding the gift basket out to Jim, Blair moved to stand in his way. 

"I'm sure Jim appreciates the thought, but he can't accept your... offer." 

"Oh no? I'd like to hear that from Jim, if you don't mind." 

"Look," Blair ground out, all rational thought gone and nothing but an overwhelming territorial instinct in its place. "We're a couple, OK? Jim doesn't need you here!" 

Bradford didn't say anything, but his face screamed, "Oh yeah? Prove it!" 

Whirling around quickly to face Jim, Blair found his mind somehow moving in slow motion. In only an instant, he had time for a number of conflicting thoughts to race through his head: "This asshole is leaving if it kills me!" "Oh my god, what are the guys going to say?" "Are they watching?" "I hope not -- but I can always convince them it just desperation to get rid of the guy, plus sleep deprivation." "I hope so -- Jim is _mine_ and I want everyone to know!" "Please, Jim, go along with me on this!" "I'm sorry!" and, as his mouth landed on Jim's, "*YES! *" 

It was a quick kiss -- Blair pulled back before Jim could do it first, or clobber him. 

"See?!" he nearly yelled at the intruder. He barely had time to register the facts that 1) all sounds of poker had ceased, 2) Jim hadn't shouted "Cooties!", and 3) Bradford still didn't look convinced, before a sigh from Jim jerked his attention back to his partner. 

"Oh, Chief," Jim said in a tone that held long-suffering affection and aggravation, then he pulled Blair to him with hands on his shoulders and slowly lowered his lips to Blair's. 

No thoughts were left in Blair's mind this time, just a sort of melting, content, "Ohhh..." as he really tasted Jim for the first time. 

There was nothing tentative in Jim's kiss, nothing at all to betray that it was their first. His tongue probed at Blair's full lips, which opened eagerly to experience as much of Jim as possible. 

As their tongues met and explored, Blair was dimly aware of Jim molding him to that incredible chest, and of Bradford muttering "Alright, I _get_ it" before closing the door rather forcefully. 

Jim showed no sign of ending the kiss any time soon, but when Connor let out a wolf whistle, Blair pulled back in a daze. 

Jim patted his cheek, smiled wide, and said, "Well, that got rid of him!" 

The game progressed in something of a haze for Blair. There were a few odd looks from the Major Crimes gang at first, but Jim's sudden good humor was infectious and soon everyone was joking and laughing and acting as if Jim hadn't had Blair worked up to the point that Jim could have taken him right there on the floor in front of the poker table and Blair wouldn't have cared. 

Everyone except Blair. After stupid mistakes on four hands in a row, he got up and escaped to the kitchen. 

He was hoping to get some clarity on the situation once he was out of Jim's immediate vicinity, but he soon realized that he was fooling himself. He kept reliving their kiss, and trying to argue himself out of the idea that Jim had done it out of desire for Blair and not just desire to get back to the poker game. Such hopes only led to pain when reality crashed in. 

He tried to cut the cake that Mrs. McGrath had brought, but he almost knocked it on the floor, clumsy in his distraction. When he _did_ drop the knife, Jim came in to make sure he was OK. 

Still smiling. 

Was it because he was winning big in the game? Or because he was laughing at Blair's discomfort? Or... it couldn't be that Jim had enjoyed their kiss as much as he had... Blair couldn't let himself think that way. He knew that he would find it hard to survive the inevitable disaster of finding he was wrong if he let himself hope... 

"Everything OK, Chief?" 

"Um, yeah, great... um, do you want some cake?" Blair mentally kicked himself -- sounding like a dork was not the way to assure Jim that the situation was normal. 

"Here, why don't you let me handle that," Jim said as he took the recovered knife from Blair's hand. Their fingers brushed, and Blair jumped with the contact. That couldn't have been deliberate, could it? He was just imagining that the touch was purposeful, that had to be it. 

He looked at Jim's face as Jim cut the cake. He was the embodiment of confident competence as he deftly cut slices and laid them on the plate that Blair has taken out. In fact, he looked the complete opposite of how Blair felt. Jim looked up at him and gave him a lazy smile. 

Blair bolted for the bathroom. 

It wasn't until Simon bellowed, "If you don't get out here in 60 seconds, Sandburg, I'm sending in a search party -- I want to win some more of your money!" that Blair emerged... 

...and proceeded to give the Captain just what he wanted, losing hand after hand while the others grew more and more amused. 

For everyone but Blair, the mood was very festive and jovial. Jim especially was in a good humor, but rather than boosting Blair's spirits the way that normally would, Jim's frequent smiles and gentle joking just made him more confused. 

It was just too fairy-tale to think that somehow his deepest wish, his most impossible dream, would be handed to him on a platter... a Santa platter with Christmas cookies and gourmet cheese... 

Just because it was the time of year celebrated by nearly every culture in the northern hemisphere since man grew bright enough to notice that the changing of the seasons and the length of the days had a predictable pattern to it, suddenly Jim felt the way that Blair had felt since almost the beginning? No. No Christmas wish come true, no Hanukkah miracle -- real life just wasn't like that. Right? 

Any minute now it would hit the fan, Blair was convinced. Jim would stand up and announce that his good mood was because he'd fallen for some sexy stockbroker and they were getting married on New Year's. 

Or Rafe would spill the beans about a bet on whether Jim could convince Blair that he really wanted him. 

Or maybe there would be a another knock at the door, followed by it being kicked in by an escaped serial-killing kidnapper who, upon setting foot in town, had heard through the psycho grapevine that Blair Sandburg was _the_ prime target in Cascade... 

He laughed out loud at that one, and prided himself on there being only a bit of hysteria evident in it. 

"Are you OK, Blair?" Jim asked him, all dulcet tones but with a gleam in his eye that tightened Blair's nerves even further. Besides, he always worried when Jim used his first name. 

"Yeah, no problem, Jim. Just had a funny thought." 

"Are you sure? Maybe you ought to go lay down on your bed." Had Blair imagined the slight emphasis on bed? He was sick of this obsessive analyzing of vocal inflections. "You seem a little... flushed. Remember, you were telling me earlier that you wanted to stay inside all weekend and... sleep." 

Blair coughed, Simon raised an eyebrow, and Connor snickered -- it wasn't just Blair's imagination this time that found Jim's words... suggestive, though Jim's face was the picture of innocence. 

"Winter break, you know -- all the academic crap over for the semester, time for a rest," Blair tried to recover. 

"I thought you liked that academic crap, Hairboy," Henri had to point out. 

"Oh, well yeah, I do! I mean, I usually do. But after the whole term I need a breather, you know?" 

Most of his friends nodded in understanding, but apparently Jim wasn't done torturing him. 

"Are you sure that's it? Maybe you've found that you prefer more... active pursuits. Like riding with me." Jim's grin was evil. 

Blair could feel the blood rushing to his face, and somehow that triggered an abrupt change of mood in him. He was disgusted with himself -- pushing 30 and blushing over innocuous words, all fragile and flustered and mopey over his unrequited love... He'd had enough. 

"I'm out," he announced, slapping his cards down on the table. "More cider, anybody?" he asked, picking up his mug. 

"Thanks, Sandy." Connor offered her own mug. 

Shoulders back, head high, Blair took the mugs into the kitchen. 

He was calm, he was in control, he was no lovesick and awestruck teenager to be cowering in the corner... He repeated it like an affirmation as he filled the mugs. 

Blair braced his hands on the counter and looked around the loft, taking in the sights and scents that said home to him. His friends, the pillow on the sofa that Blair had gotten in Manitoba, the photos and knick-knacks that were a mix of his and Jim's, the greens that they'd decided to celebrate the season with and put up together... and Jim. 

All the rest would be meaningless without Jim, whether as a friend and roommate or as a friend and lover... what was important was that they remained friends. And he wouldn't do anything that would compromise that. 

He took several deep, cleansing breaths, and finally felt back in control. 

And then the knock came. 

Blair snorted and looked at the door. Time for drug dealers to burst in... or maybe another horde of Jim's groupies coming to offer themselves up as Solstice sacrifices... 

The knock quickly escalated into pounding. 

"Alright, alright, keep your pants on!" he said as he went to the door. It didn't matter who it was, Blair could handle them now that he was back on his game. 

"Open up!" 

Blair could almost _feel_ Jim getting up from the table. 

"I know you're in there!" 

Blair stood with his hand on the lock for a moment, peering through the peephole at no one he knew, then unbolted the door and threw it open wide. 

"O--" The agitated visitor froze in mid-bellow with his mouth open, taking in the view of Blair just past the door, hands on hips, Jim close behind with his service piece in hand, and a table full of pissed-off poker players behind _him_. 

He wasn't as large a man as his voice had suggested, and if he was much past 21 Blair would be surprised -- he still had the unfinished lankiness of youth to his frame. He'd obviously been drinking, and he looked anything but threatening, doing a fish impression as he stood there in his ratty jeans and a Jags sweatshirt, no coat despite the weather. 

Blair broke the silence. "May I help you?" 

"Um..." 

"A minute ago you seemed quite convinced that you had some business here," Blair said firmly. 

"Yeah, uh... um, I think I don't." 

Jim stepped up next to Blair and gave the nervous guest a look. 

"I mean," he continued quickly, "um, I was looking for my girlfriend." 

Blair turned to look at Megan. "Not mine!" she volunteered. 

"We don't have her," Blair said. 

"No, no, I know! I... I think I'm lost." 

" _I_ think you're drunk," Jim countered. 

"Well, yeah... but she was supposed to be with _me_ tonight, I even bought _food_ , and instead she tells me that she's going off to a party at a friend's, without me!" 

"That sucks, man." Blair was feeling much more charitable toward the guy, having ascertained that he was just a _regular_ loser as opposed to a sociopathic, homicidal loser. 

"Right, yeah, thanks -- so I'm trying to find her!" 

"Randomly pounding on doors?" Jim asked dryly. 

"Nah. I... I can't quite remember the address, but I know it's around here somewhere..." 

Blair gave him a questioning look. "I hope you're not driving,". 

"No, a friend is driving me." 

A deep voice came from the table. "I hope your _friend_ isn't drinking." 

"No, sir," he answered quickly, but Simon's menacing tone and intimidating appearance had the guy looking at Blair with wide and questioning eyes. 

"They're all cops," Blair said with a smile, waving his hand to encompass the four at the table plus Jim. 

The spurned boyfriend took a step backwards. 

"Do you know the friend's name? Maybe we can look them up." 

"Sandburg!" Jim growled, but the guy was shaking his head. 

"No, can't remember. It's OK." 

"Well, good luck, man," Blair told him as Jim started to close the door in the guy's face. 

"Happy Holidays!" Blair called through the narrowing crack. 

"Yeah, right," he heard from the hallway. 

They all looked at one another, glances flitting from Jim to Blair to the poker table and back again, until suddenly Blair fell apart laughing. 

Jim looked at him skeptically as he laughed and laughed until he was gasping for breath. 

"Not a homicidal maniac," he got out finally. 

"Mmm." 

"Or a drug dealer, or an escaped convict, or even a devoted member of the Jim Ellison Fan Club." Blair's laughter had subsided into chuckles. 

"Sandy?" Connor sounded a little nervous. 

Blair looked at his friends, looking back at him perplexedly. 

"Maybe I'm not quite as cursed as I thought," he explained. 

He smacked Jim lightly on the arm as he passed by him into the kitchen. The cider he had poured was only lukewarm, so he dumped it back into the pot and gave it a stir before ladling more. 

"I saw that!" Jim groused as he sat back down at the table. 

"So?" Blair brought the mugs out of the kitchen. 

"So you're spreading germs. You could have just microwaved the mugs." 

"Nah, takes too long. Madam, your germy cider," he added as he handed it to Megan. 

"Thanks, mate. So Jim -- you didn't seem too worried about Sandy's germs earlier," she said, shooting Jim a sly look before sipping her cider. 

Blair was glad he hadn't taken a drink yet, because he would have doused his few remaining poker chips with cider. Jim, however, just shrugged and picked up his cards. 

"People! Comedy Hour is over! I don't know about you people, but I'm here to play poker," Simon rumbled. 

And so they did, with no further incidents beyond the occasional good-natured squabble about who was a lying, cheating weasel, lower than the slimiest bottom-feeder in the deepest, darkest lake -- nothing different from any other poker night. 

They managed almost an hour's more play before things started to slow down. 

"H, I think you're going to fall asleep at the table," Blair said. 

"Hey, I've got a good excuse -- I was on that stakeout with Narcotics last night, Hairboy." 

"So was Rafe, and he still looks fresh and perky." 

"Yeah -- it's unnatural!" agreed Brown with a yawn. 

"Stop that -- it's contagious!" Connor complained as she too began to yawn. 

"Come on, people, I think it's time we call it a night." 

"But Captain, I'm sure my luck is going to change -- I want a chance to win some of my money back!" 

"It'll have to wait 'til next time, Rafe." 

Rafe grumbled a bit more, but soon everyone had bundled up and headed out to brave the cold drizzle. 

When Jim closed and locked the door behind the last guest, he turned and looked at Blair expectantly. 

"So. One of the more interesting poker nights, eh?" 

"Oh yeah. I was sure somehow that the last visitor was going to be a deranged drug dealer or something," Blair agreed, silently reminding himself that he was going to be calm and collected. 

"So," Jim said again, and took a step toward Blair. 

"So... we've _got_ to get this mess cleaned up!" Blair announced, and went to grab the first thing he came to off the table. So much for calm and collected. 

Jim came to help without comment, and in short order they had the living area free of all signs of Poker Night, though the same couldn't be said for the kitchen. 

"Blair." Jim stood between his partner and the path out of the kitchen, forcing Blair to finally look at him. 

"Yeah?" 

"Can you just stand still for a minute?" 

"Jim, look at this kitchen! Dirty dishes, leftovers not refrigerated, dregs of cider still cooking on the stove for goodness sake!" 

Jim sighed. "OK, let's just get the food away, alright?" 

"Are you actually suggesting that we should leave the dishes?" 

"Just turn the cider off and get moving, OK, Chief?" 

Blair did, wondering both what Jim wanted and why _he_ wouldn't shut up long enough to find out. Fear, plain and simple, he decided. Calm and collected was harder to maintain when Jim was looming so big and buff and sexy just a few feet away. He tried not to think of that kiss, but of course that only made him think of it more. 

Finally the last items had been stowed and the mugs were in the sink and the counters were wiped and there was no avoiding it any longer... whatever "it" was. 

Jim stood there, staring at Blair, still blocking his exit. Blair finally met his eyes. 

"Blair. Why do you keep running?" Jim's voice was quiet and gentle, and somehow it made Blair even more nervous -- he knew how to deal with blustering Jim, but he was totally bemused when it came to the Jim that he'd seen since their kiss. 

"I..." he began, but was at a rare loss for words. 

"There you go again -- I just saw you checking whether you could get by me. Now tell me, what's the matter?" 

"The matter? Nothing -- it's just been a really long day, and I've had about zero sleep in the last week with finals and grades and everything." 

"Then why won't you get near me? I'm really... confused." 

" _You're_ confused?!" 

"I mean, you said... and then we..." 

Jim was beginning to look rather crestfallen, and that appealed to Blair's strong protective instinct where his partner was concerned. 

"Jim... I'm not quite sure where you're headed here. You haven't said much, and I don't know whether... well, I'm just not sure what's going on, OK?" 

"But... you told Bradford that we were a couple. I heard you." 

"I wanted him to leave." 

"But... then you kissed me." 

"I'm exhausted, who knows _what_ I'm doing?!" 

"What? But when I kissed you, you kissed me back!" 

"Well..." 

"Are you saying that you didn't mean it?" 

"What?" 

"Was it really all just to get rid of Bradford?" 

"That's what _you_ said!" 

"What?" 

"For crying out loud, Jim, what are you saying? Use short words, I'm on my last legs here." 

Jim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked at Blair helplessly, took a deep breath, then moved right up into Blair's personal space. He did nothing for one frozen moment, but when Blair for once didn't back up or bolt, he leaned in and took Blair's mouth in a soft, tentative kiss. 

Before Blair had a chance to respond, Jim had pulled back. They stood there, in the middle of the kitchen, in the middle of the night, staring at one another. Blair wasn't sure what was going through Jim's head, but the thought uppermost in _his_ mind was that maybe there really was something to the whole "magic of the season" thing. 

Finally he broke the silence. "There's nobody here." 

Jim smiled, just a small smile. "Nobody but the two of us." 

"So you can't just be doing that to make anybody leave or anything." Jim's smile got bigger. "And I can't be doing this for any reason other than I want to," Blair said before he put one hand on Jim's shoulder and the other arm around his waist and finally gave him the sort of kiss that he'd wanted to for so long. 

When his tongue found its way into Jim's mouth, Jim made a rumbling sound from deep inside and pulled Blair even closer. They stood there for what seemed like both forever and no time at all, holding tightly to one another and exploring slowly, thoroughly. 

Finally Blair tried to gently disengage himself. Stepping back so he could really see his partner, Blair took in the dazed look in his eyes, and reached out to touch his lips with just a fingertip. The needy sound that Jim made sent an answering jolt through Blair's body. 

"So," Blair began, not really certain what he was going to say but knowing something had to be said. Jim just watched him expectantly. 

"So... you meant it?" 

"Of course -- couldn't you tell?" 

Blair had to laugh. "Jim, at that point I couldn't have told you my own name. Besides, I wanted it too much to trust my judgment, or believe it was true... my luck tends not to run that way." 

"Is that why you kept going on about the drunk kid not being a crime lord?" 

"Yeah," Blair smiled. "You could have just told me, you know." 

"What, with our four hawk-eyed detective friends watching?" 

"Oh yeah. Well, you could have said something before." 

"So could you." 

"Oh yeah." 

Suddenly Blair felt as if his legs were going to collapse beneath him. No sleep mixed with wild swings of emotion and the odd adrenalin rush or two had him just about at his limit. 

"Sorry, Jim, I've got to sit down." 

"Oh, sure, sorry. Come sit on the sofa with me," Jim said as he led Blair, half-staggering, into the other room. 

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go..." Blair's voice trailed off, but Jim caught his pointed look up the stairs to Jim's bedroom. 

Jim stopped and gave his partner a quick kiss. "You don't know how much I'm looking forward to it -- but this isn't the night." 

"Having second thoughts?" Blair didn't know where the question came from, and held his breath while he waited for Jim's response. 

Jim gave a smile tinged with only a touch of disappointment. "My time for second thoughts is long past. C'mere," he said, guiding Blair to the sofa. He sat down in the corner, one foot on the floor, the other leg to the side, and gestured for Blair to sit in front of him. 

They were both quiet as they arranged themselves so that Blair's back was against Jim's broad chest, with Jim's arms snug around him. 

Blair sighed as the tension that he hadn't consciously been aware of began to melt away, his muscles relaxing into Jim's hold. 

"Long past?" Blair finally questioned quietly. 

" _Long_ past. I had second thoughts... and third thoughts and fourth thoughts..." 

His tone was mild, but Blair stiffened anyway. "Really not sure of me, hmm?" 

Jim laughed ruefully. "I've always been sure of _you_ , Chief -- it's me that I've doubted. All the times I've taken my frustrations out on you... plus all the women you're always after... why would you want to be with _me_?" 

Blair relaxed back into Jim's strong body again and gave his arm a little squeeze. "Because I love you, of course," he said with a grin, finally gaining confidence in what was happening between them. 

"So... we're OK?" 

"Oh, yes... I mean, sure, there's a lot more we need to talk about when I'm not half-comatose and all, but yeah, we're more than OK. Right?" 

"Right." 

Blair angled his body so that he could see Jim's face. They smiled at each other, a little shy, a lot joyful. 

"So is the part where I say 'Merry Christmas, Jim,' and you say 'Merry Christmas, Blair' and we hold hands?" 

"I thought you were Jewish." 

"Well, yeah, mostly, but there aren't as many made-for-TV movies about Hanukkah wishes coming true, you know?" 

"Ah. I guess you're right." 

"That would just be too sappy, though -- we're already sappy enough." 

"Well, how 'bout this then -- 'I can't wait to get your clothes off, Blair.'" 

Blair's laughter threatened to dump him on the floor. "I think that's much better," he agreed, and leaned in for another taste of Jim. 

As they slowly learned each other's mouths, Blair slid his hands under Jim's sweater and pulled his shirt out from his waistband. They both groaned as Blair's hands finally met the smooth flesh of Jim's chest. 

With one hand in Blair's hair, cupping the back of his head, Jim made his way with the other through the layers of clothing to finally reach Blair's skin. 

Blair was stunned at how such seemingly simple caresses could move him so much... he had known at a theoretical level that being intimate with someone truly special was different than friendly sex with a more casual partner, but he hadn't really understood the enormity of what that meant until Jim touched him. His tired mind tried and failed to imagine what it would be like when they progressed past making out on the couch... 

Fatigue eventually got the best of Blair, and they settled themselves on the sofa in a somewhat tangled pile, neither man wanting to relinquish his hold on the other. 

Just before Blair nodded off, he whispered, "Merry Christmas, Jim." He fell asleep to the sound of Jim's soft reply... "I love you, Blair." 

* * *

End The Dubious Magic of the Season by ainm: ainm@livejournal.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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